This sonnet first appeared in print in the anthology “Filled with Breath: 30 Sonnets by 30 Poets” edited by Mary Meriam in 2010. Thank you, Mary! Dedicated to my son, with love.
The Press of Time
First appeared in “Filled with Breath” Sonnet Anthology (2010)
I watch my son, asleep here in his room—
His arm’s gone wide, his mouth’s gone wide; he snores.
His hair’s a loomless, amber bale— not white
like mine was at his age. He’ll soon take flight
from coddled nestling ways, he’ll lose the down
and comfort of his youth—time presses on.
There is no lift in words; I have no right
to use my landbound tongue to speak the light
that splits me in the prism of my core.
With all the atoms in my I’ll adore
him through the thermals and the chartless course
he’ll call his life. For now, I’ll watch the moon
chase pencilled inches up the jamb; too soon,
too soon! There’s nothing empty as a womb.